


Dovakhiin Decisions

by Lady_Ondolemar



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, F/M, Fantasy, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Romance, Skyrim - Freeform, Stormcloaks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ondolemar/pseuds/Lady_Ondolemar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn, Tanereas,  has just become Arch Mage, but will jealousy tear a past relationship apart, or will it form an even greater one? (Follows parts of the questline, based on a glitch that happened on my account)</p><p>I own only Tanereas and Onmund's family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys/ gals! This is my first fanfic, no hate please. This was originally for wattpad so here we go!

    "Are you saying that YOU'RE the new Arch Mage?" Onmund questioned.

    "Onmund, you stubborn Nord, that is not a problem is it?" Tanereas replied.

    "O-Of course...it does not. The college is a place of knowledge,  not petty jealousy." Onmund stated.

    "I am incredibly glad that you agree!" Tanereas said with a smile on her light pink lips.

    Onmund had been smitten with the perky little breton as soon as he laid his eyes on her. She was so....exciting! A great change of pace from the daily normalities of life at the Mage college. Of course, being a Nord at a college of this nature, is anything but ordinary.

    She showed up not two weeks ago, with barely a spell to her name. Tanereas did learn quickly though. Soon she was throwing firebolts, and creating ice runes. Something seemed, unusual, about this woman to Onmund. Tanereas Fire-Rose. As amazing as she appears to be, it was a shock to him when she became the Arch Mage. He had been there for three years, she was there for one week, three days. It just was not right.

   "How do you do that?" Onmund asked

   "Do what, exactly?" She questioned.

   "Be so charming to everyone?" He said.

   Underneath that grinning exterior, there was rage bubbling inside Onmund. How? He thought it was going to be him. No matter how much he tried to think of Tanereas, all he could think of was that fool Ancano and that Mage position. He needed to clear his head. By Talos, he just probably required a rest after all that had occurred at Winterhold in the past week.

   Tanereas smiled at the Nord and took his hand in hers, "Come, I must show you something." He couldn't help but return her grin, it was contagious. She led him up the stairs to the Arch- Mage's quarters. He gulped at the extensiveness of the room. An arcane enchanting table, an alchemy station, mass amounts of ingredients just lying there, ready for use. This place was- not his. It was all hers after only a week and three days, it was not fair. It took years to convince his family that this was what he was meant to do, and now what did he have to show for it? Absolutely nothing, albeit a few complex spells, but there was no title to accompany that. His family would never appreciate any of his newfound skills. Onmund was so consumed in his own thoughts, he nearly missed Tanereas' comment.

   "I recalled you saying how you were running low on ingredients, and how you wished for your own arcane enchanting table. So, I thought you might wish to stay here. I truly do love the honor of being Arch-Mage and all, however, I do not believe that I will stay in Winterhold for much longer." Her kind action appeared lost on Onmund, who looked revolted by this offer. He did not need her pity, he was a Nord! He lost, so he deserves nothing. Tanereas' eyes showed confusion on her part.

   "I am certain your offer was made with good intentions, but I must decline." He took his hand from her grasp. With a slight bow, Onmund left the Dragonborn's side. "Farewell, Arch-Mage." Tanereas stood in the same place, mouth parted in concern, but he did not return to her.

   His conversation with Tanereas sparked a chain of painful memories from his family. At the impressionable age of 13, he was introduced to magic. Born in Windhelm, he had been raised in the traditional Nordic manner, cultural pride surged through his veins, but the nativism and hatred of magic was altogether lost on him.

   The day he first discovered magic was unusually warm for the region. Him, Hermir, and Rolff had managed to escape their early morning chores by offering to help Torsten Cruel-Sea out in the fields. Onmund loathed farmwork, as the only things it exercised were his muscles, but he loved being out of the dark, damp city. Hermir and Rolff were so much better at it than he, so he was the one that took the harvested wheat to the **silo.** It wasn’t overly physical, so he was decent at it.

   By the time he returned, Rolff and Hermir were finished their harvesting and were nowhere in sight.

   “Rolff, Hermir?” Onmund called out to his friends, but soon he saw them at the edge of the street talking to a tall, golden-faced traveler. His white hair was slightly covered by a tan hood. The children waved him over to where they stood next to the trader.

   “Onmund, it’s amazing, come see what he can do!” The shy Nord approached the trio and saw that the traveler had yellow eyes to match his skin. He was frightened but intrigued as well. “Please, do it again, please, please.”

   The man nodded and held out his hand, in an instant, a bright flame appeared on his palm. Soon, it glowed brighter and became a ball that shot up into the sky. They were right, this was amazing, he could barely believe his eyes. Real magic, right before him, so close he could touch it.

   But, within minutes, there were guards surrounding them. One warned them to stand back and three others attempted to restrain the trader, but in a flash he was gone. The only sign of his being there was a pair of footprints where he once stood.

   The guards muttered something about ‘filthy elves’, and how they were ‘not to be trusted’. They instructed the children not to speak to creatures like him anymore, their magic was dangerous. It seemed to resonate with the others, but Onmund wasn’t really listening. He still couldn’t fathom how the elf had managed to control fire with his bare hands. When the other two were left in the city to find their way home, one of the guards recognized him.

   “Hey you’re Sigbrand’s boy, aren’t you?” The boy nodded and the guard smacked him on the shoulder. “A good man, here, I’ll take you home to your parents. They must be worried about you.” Onmund consented and walked alongside the guard. He felt something in the pocket of his pants, a piece of parchment that read, “Meet me in the forest tomorrow at dawn.”

   He slipped the note back into his pocket when they reached his house. If this had anything to do with magic, his father would have nothing to do with it. Luckily, his mother was the one to open the door.

   “Oh, Onmund, there you are.” His mother took him in right away. The guard stayed for a conversation with his mother. Onmund knew that many of the single Nords in Windhelm found his mother attractive. She was intelligent, beautiful, and loyal, just what any man could want in a Nordic wife, at least that’s what he assumed.

   “Hello Idunn, some guards found your boy with a group of children outside of Cruel-Sea farm, talking to some low life elf. They weren’t hurt, but it was close. He was practicin’ some kind of spell, elves and their dirty magic. Ain’t safe for the young ones, in my opinion.” She simply nodded along with what he said and thanked him once more before shutting the door.

   “Mother, I saw the most fantastic thing.” He heard the slam of the bedroom door and knew that his father was still awake, so he silenced himself.

   “Onmund, dear, why don’t you head off to bed?” He nodded and did as he was told. No supper for him tonight, an easier punishment, but a punishment nonetheless. In the morning he was given a harsh lecture followed by a beating from his father, in true Nordic fashion. Then, he was brought to the shrine to ask Talos for forgiveness, all of this done without complaint.

   Dawn had come and gone, but Onmund still wished to see if the mysterious author of the note would be waiting for him in the forest. After breakfast was over, he snuck out of the house to the forest on the outskirts of Windhelm. There was not a single soul to be found.

   A bit downtrodden, Onmund made his way to the edge of the forest when a voice stopped him.

   “So, you want to learn about magic?” The boy spun around and behind him stood the very elf that had held fire in his hands. He nodded enthusiastically and the elf agreed to teach him, in exchange for food and a potion of healing.

   Onmund made the payment and each day the elf taught him about magic, basic certainly, but it still thrilled the Nord boy who thought that farming and fighting were his only options. It took two years before he had mastered a simple minor spell, flames. The elf had become a trusted friend and Onmund ached to show his talents to someone besides his instructor. When he asked his teacher about his dilemma, he told him that it was probably not wise. So, the training continued and another year passed by. He learned a second spell, sparks, and that was when he decided to show Rolffe and Hermir.

   “Onmund, what is so important that you have to take us away from our chores? I was learning more about the forge. Shouldn’t you be helping your father at the stables or down at the farm?” Hermir complained to her friend.

   Onmund brushed it off and the two followed him to the forest where he had been practicing.

   “You two will not believe this, here stand back.” They did as he said and not a moment too soon, because then a ball of orange flame erupted from his hand, striking a rabbit a few feet ahead of them. When his friends remained silent, he turned around, with a proud grin on his face. “Fantastic, right?”

   Their eyes were wide and they stepped away slowly.

   “Hey, Hermir, Rolffe, what’s wrong?” Each time he walked forward, they walked back.

   “Magic, Onmund? That’s not right, you shouldn’t be doing that. How did you even learn it?” A mixture of fright and awe laced Hermir’s words.

   He thought for a moment about what telling them could mean, but he shrugged it off. Onmund reminded them of the day at the farm, where they had first seen the elf and the fire. He talked of how that same elf had been teaching him for years about the history of magic and he (the elf) had gone to the College of Winterhold to learn all sorts of spells. But, his passion was lost on the Nord children and they only spoke of how disgusting elves were and how magic wasn’t a very Nord thing to be doing.

   Later, Onmund travelled back home to find his mother preparing dinner while his father waited at the door for him.

   “Well, Idunn, look who decided to join us for dinner.” His father had a stern look in his eyes and gripped Onmund’s shoulder, pulling him inside. Apparently, Rolffe had visited earlier and told him all about his practicing in the woods. “You lied to me son, if I can even refer to you as that right now. My son, practicing _magic,_ with an elf at that. Please tell me this isn’t true.”

   Honesty was one Nordic value that Onmund just couldn’t escape. He nodded and spoke to his father about all the ‘wonders’ of magic and the College of Winterhold.

   “I will have none of that in my house, to bed with you.” He wanted to protest but his judgement told him better.

   He didn’t get a beating the next day, didn’t pray to Talos, no lecture, just cold silence from his father. This was a worse punishment. He didn’t travel to the forest any longer, he worked on the field helping his father in any way he could. Occassionally, he would bring up the possibility of college at Winterhold, only to be brushed off by his father.

   Onmund had one other family member that lived with them off and on. His brother was, Bardi. The favorite of both his mother and his father, a successful farmer who no longer lived with them, but a true Nord at heart. And, he would never let the younger brother forget it.

   Each night when Onmund came home, he faced ridicule and mockery from his “perfect” brother who had decided stay home permanently now. When he wasn’t out seducing some girl, he was home, reminding his parents of how much of a failure Onmund was at being a Nord.

   Even though he had aged, he hadn’t grown out of beatings from his father, which now came more frequently and more harsh. His mother always just stood in the background, allowing all this to occur.

   One Middas, afternoon, Onmund knew that this constant abuse was too much and made his decision known.

   “Mother, Father, and Bardi, I’ve decided, that I am going to attend the College of Winterhold. I understand that this is not the Nordic way, but it is what I am meant to do.” His father refused to meet his eyes.

   “It’s a death sentence.” That was all he said. Onmund shook his head. “Is this how you expect to bring honor to this family?”

   “I cannot guarantee it will bring honor, but it is what makes me happiest. That may not be what you think is right, but I must do what I feel is just.” His father had no more to say on the matter, and his brother smirked at Onmund. His brother gave him a snarky handshake, an action that signified victory in Bardis’ eyes.

   He turned to his mother, who handed him a sack full of provisions and a health potion. At the bottom of the bag was a gold amulet with a ruby in the center. The necklace was a symbol of the ending of an old life, and a beginning of a new one.

    It was the very object that brought him to Tanereas. Her bright, daring demeanor intrigued him, it reminded him of when he was a child and first discovered magic. Hopeful and impossible, that was the auburn haired Breton. When he found that she was the Dragonborn, he believed it right away. That was her, honorable, admirable, kind, and utterly unfathomable. Receiving the position of Arch-Mage, it almost seemed unfair to Onmund, whose whole life had been an uphill climb through ice and fire sometimes quite literally.

   Yes, a break was exactly what the Nord needed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_The next day at Breezehome, in Whiterun. Tirdas_

           "My thane, what is ailing you?" Lydia asked.

           "It is none of your concern Lydia. How many times must I lecture you? My name is Taneraes." Taneraes explained.

           "Of course my thane, but I am sworn to you." Lydia replied.

           "So you have told me many times. Mara help me." She groaned.

            She couldn’t get her interaction with Onmund yesterday off of her mind. She thought that he would be proud of her for the position of Arch-Mage, not that she required his approval. He constantly doubted her, and this was no exception. To be quite honest, it was bothersome. His Nordic ways often came between them in their relationship. And, she had worked as hard as he, if not harder for this honor. Tanereas had fought a powerful supernatural force for this, and slaughtered someone that once was her acquaintance.

            And, honor that was yet another thing that Onmund would always harp upon. "I must protect my honor, or I will die in vain someday." This was something that Tanereas both admired and found draining about Nordic people. Regardless, she still cherished him as a dear friend and confidant.

            From what he had mentioned to her about his family, which was very little, she could only assume that they were the cause of his attitude. Her family was much different, with an elf for a mother and a father that was a Redguard, she never had any restrictions on what she could believe in. Tanereas knew this was odd, but being an orphan, she couldn’t have been happier with the parents she was gifted. They still lived in the small house in a forest outside of Rorikstead. There was no one that Tanereas adored more in the world than her parents.

            In fact, prior to Onmund’s gruff response to her offer the day prior, she wanted to introduce him to them. They’d grown close over the past two weeks and Tanereas found herself grown fond of him. Truly, she’d hoped that he would open up to her more about his past, so she could help him. Unfortunately, his response proved that to be an unreasonable desire.

            A knock sounded at the door, “Lydia, could you get the door for me?” She expected a reply such as, Yes my thane, or with pleasure my thane, but she received no response. _Huh, strange._ Normally, Lydia loved being of use, but she was nowhere in sight.

            Tanereas opened the door and was met with the face of a young, hopeful tradeswoman. Ysolda. She completely forgot about the mammoth tusk.

            “Ysolda! Hello.” Ysolda had an uneasy smile on her face.

            “Hello, Tanereas, I was wondering if you had a chance to get that mammoth tusk I asked you about. It’s been over a month.” If she weren’t the thane of this city, she would have some choice words to say to this woman,

            “No, actually I’ve been in Winterhold the past few weeks, I am the new Arch-Mage in fact.” When this evoked not even a congratulations, Tanereas sighed, “I will get you the mammoth tusk by Fredas.” Ysolda wasn’t satisfied with this answer it seemed.

            “I was hoping you would have it today, you see, I’m travelling to-“

            “Ysolda, I will get the mammoth tusk to you. I left I just arrived home this afternoon.” She must’ve seen the exhaustion in her eyes or just didn’t feel like arguing because Ysolda left her doorstep without protest. Finally, Tanereas could get some rest.

_Bleakwind Basin 8:00 AM, Middas_

            “Lydia, next time I go hunting for mammoths, how does actually fighting sound hm?” Tanereas snipped, she was healing a gash in her arm. Her three health potions had been dropped during the fight, so it was back to spells. With her magicka nearly drained and her body restored, they were a few miles north of Whiterun now. “Ah, well, at least we have the mammoth tusk, Ysolda will be pleased.”

            “Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still! ” Tanereas heard a strange voice coming from the side of the road. It belonged to a jester, or at least someone dressed as one. He looked in need of some assistance, so why not help the poor guy. Clearly he wasn’t from Skyrim. She knew how it felt to be out of your element.

            Ignoring Lydia’s warnings, she approached the man. “Excuse me, sir, is something the matter?” The jester spun on his heel to meet Tanereas’ eyes.

            “Poor Cicero is stuck. Can’t you see? I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not her. Her corpse! She’s quite dead. I’m taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But…aggh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don’ you see?” He bounced around like a nervous hare, walking in circles, shouting his complaints. Tanereas agreed to help.

            “Alright, calm down there, is there any way I can help you with your… mother?” The situation seemed a bit sketchy, but she wasn’t one to leave a helpless person out to dry. It was his mother for Mara’s sake.

            His mood was greatly altered, as well as his step. As opposed to his worried hopping, the jester jumped for joy, dancing some maddening jig and humming a hopeful tune. “Oh. Oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm- the Loreius Farm. Just over there, off the road. Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me! But he won’t! He refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!”

            However strange he might be, Tanereas took a liking to him. He was very different from many of the travelers she’d met. They’d always either haggle with her in an attempt to cheat her of gold, or just be outright impolite. So what if he was a bit mad, wasn’t everyone that decided to live in Skyrim?

            It took a moment for the farmer to open the door, but eventually it creaked ajar.

            “Good morning, Mr. Loreius. Were you aware that there is a man out on the road that needs some assistance?” He didn’t seem too surprised as she told him of the jester that stood by his wagon. Currently, he was chasing a Luna moth.

            “That Cicero feller? Tell me something I don’t know. Crazy fool’s already asked me about five times. Why can’t he just leave us alone?” His wife sat in the corner, silently knitting, but obviously he was concerned for his family. With some persuasion, he finally conceded to assist the jester.

            It was safe to say that Cicero was pleased with her assistance, the madman gave her a rib crushing embrace after hearing the news. As she walked away, Tanereas waved goodbye to the man and he returned with a singsong farewell that made her chuckle. What an odd man.

            The Breton found her way back into Whiterun. It really was an enchanting place, this city. So full of life and nature. Children played to their heart’s content, unaware of the civil war that threatened their very happiness. They shouldn’t have to worry, she only hoped they wouldn’t have to anytime soon.

            Lydia accompanied her to the Bannered Mare to find Ysolda. Mammoth tusk still strapped to her Housecarl, she spoke to Hulda.

            "What do you mean, she traveled to Markarth?" Tanereas questioned. The owner of the inn was friendly with Ysolda and knew her better than the Dragonborn. She shrugged and simply told her that she’d gone away in the morning and hadn’t been seen since. Upon further interrogation, she discovered that Mikael had gone as well. Tanereas refused to assume the worst.

            After she reached Breezehome, Tanereas made her choice. Sighing, she thought to herself, _Guess, we’re going to Markarth._

            Lydia pleaded with her to allow her to come with to Markarth, but Tanereas refused. She’d had enough of Lydia’s tag along nature. Being thane of so many cities was more exhausting than she thought it would be, not to sound pompous of course. From her journeys, she’d become thane of all regions excluding Windhelm, Solitude (she didn’t want to get involved in the war if she could choose not to), Riften (thieves were just too unpredictable), and Markarth (she’d never visited before).

            She often thought of the war, whether the Dragonborn would have to take a side. Tanereas trained as much as she could with the Grey Beards, but it wasn’t feasible for her to train nearly as much as they wanted her to. The trip alone to High Hrothgar took a day at least, no matter where she was in Skyrim. Somedays she wished she wasn’t this “chosen one”, there was just too much responsibility for one human to manage.

            When would she need to face Alduin? Could she battle such a powerful beast? These questions constantly haunted her thoughts and sometimes it was hard to focus on even the simplest task.

            Alone on this road, Tanereas almost wanted Lydia there with her, almost. Friends were one thing that she never had difficulty making, but ever since she was discovered to be the Dragonborn her affect on people became polarizing. People either wanted to be her best “friend” or they despised her. Then, there were the thane designated housecarls, who were at most times nice, but they were mainly annoying. Their loyalty was admirable, as well as their persistence. This dedication to the thane’s needs was draining, obviously it wasn’t meant to be, which bothered Tanereas more. Lydia definitely earned a special place in her heart, being one of the first friendly faces to greet the Breton.

            Whiterun had this charm to it that cities like Morthal lacked, but there was one city that intrigued her, Markarth. Now, was this largely due to the fact that it was one of the few cities that she hadn’t visited. There were many things that she heard about Markarth, but very few of them she believed.


End file.
